


Relay

by pistolgrip



Category: Persona 3
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Study, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, POV Third Person, kind of I guess?, switching freely between Mitsuru and Shinjiro's POVs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-11-08 10:33:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11079780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pistolgrip/pseuds/pistolgrip
Summary: He’s not gonna lie: watching Mitsuru get the most colourful disaster of a slushie and walk out as dainty as she is? Fucking hilarious. He’d take a picture if he had a phone and if he was that kind of guy. He considers telling Aki about this, but he’s essentially signed a non-disclosure agreement with Mitsuru by buying a slushie of his own.





	Relay

It’s not that he and Mitsuru aren’t friends. Hell, really, she’s his second closest friend. And he’s grateful, too, even though she keeps trying to help him. It’s useless, at this point; he knows he’s a dying man, and every action today just delays his inevitable tomorrow.

It hasn’t been all bad, of course. Mitsuru housed Akihiko (and him, too) and given Akihiko means to grow stronger (and for him to grow at all), and she’s a damn princess at times, but he’s given her the benefit of the doubt that she _is_ able to act separately from company wishes.

She’s an absolute pain in the ass, though. At least she’s predictable; the past few years, he’s known at least when to leave the alley for a few hours so Mitsuru can conveniently find him somewhere that’s not enclosed by piss-streaked brick walls and a bunch of (other) lowlives. He might not care for parts of Mitsuru, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t _care_ for her at all.

Counting her, he’s got a trio of ghosts. Castor, for the past, the faint rumbling of his never-ending regret lighting his nerves on fire. Mitsuru, for the present, visiting him after school, still in the uniform he might have been matching with a forever ago. Akihiko, for the future, urging him to keep up to wherever the hell it is that Akihiko wants to go. Reach for the stars, maybe. He’s always been a big dreamer. Shinjiro’s content to be able to dream at all.

Maybe Castor is the future and Akihiko is the past. Either way, it’s not like him to overthink the weird symbolic shit that could represent his life, so here are the facts he knows: Mitsuru visits him more frequently than Akihiko and for much vaguer reasons, sometimes wordlessly, content to sit by the port and watch the waves roll in. Sometimes, he asks about her bullshit student council to try and avoid a lecturing, but she usually tries to get something in edgewise about taking care of himself, so he can’t really win.

It seems like she’s doing the bare minimum of taking care of herself, at least. Pushing herself too hard as always, but at least she’s eating.

They try not to talk about Akihiko, and they try not to talk about the Dark Hour. At least, not directly. They’ve gotten well-trained in the art of saying things by saying nothing at all. And he can respect that. Shadows linger even after the Dark Hour ends, after all.

 

* * *

 

It’s a goddamn disaster zone when Shinjiro finally, _finally_ comes back to the dorm. It’s not even Akihiko that convinces him to come back; it’s Amada, and Akihiko’s definitely his ghost of the past now, because he’s the one that’s brought the news. Maybe his angel of death. In any case, his days are definitely numbered now, which is relieving in its own way. Now he’s not filled with the persistent anxiety of _when_. He already knows the where and who, and now he knows that it’s _soon_.

In any case, the dorm. He knew about the high school students—his juniors (and fuck, isn’t that weird to say)—and he definitely knows about Amada, and on some level he knew about the dog. But seeing it all together—seeing it all _work_ together, by some miracle—is a lot to take in.

Akihiko says his room’s been untouched, and on some level, he’s right. He didn’t have a lot of belongings anyway, sold whatever he could over the last two years, so the room’s as empty as if it were never occupied. But there’s no dust on anything, his sheets are faded from repeated washings and exposure to the sun, and the places where there should be scuffs have been painted over and repaired.

He’s left alone to re-examine his room, to rest. Shinjiro feels like crawling out of his skin. It’s too familiar to be right; he can’t pretend that everything is like it was two years ago like Akihiko does, when the extent of his control over Castor was unknown and not a guaranteed failure, when he could sit with Akihiko and Mitsuru in the control room to plan shadow ops or to rest after a long day. That’s a thing they used to do. Rest. Be friends, even. Have each other’s backs. Divulge relatively unnecessary personal information.

He lays there and listens to the dorm get livelier. He feels as though he’s buried alive, lying on his old bed in his old room, and every step his underclassmen take is another pile of dirt on top of his grave.

And fuck, he hates the Dark Hour; when midnight rolls around, he tells Arisato he’ll get right into battle right from day one. Anything to delay being in that room any longer. The only constant in his life are the shadows; it’s a familiarity he minds less than the others.

 

* * *

 

Things fall into a pattern sooner than he expects. There’s tension among him and essentially all of the dorm members except Koromaru, but he’d be shocked if there wasn’t any.

Mitsuru is taking it mostly on herself to try and reintegrate Shinjiro into life, despite how impossible it is. Akihiko’s too busy trying to pretend things are the way they used to be. He doesn’t know what he’d prefer, at any rate. “Shinjiro. Are you busy?”

He’s lying on the couch, feet up, Koromaru in his lap. He’s taken to the lounge on days where he knows the others won’t be back home, at least for a while. “Yeah. Gotta finish this show, then I got a nap to take. What do you think?”

“Aren’t you warm in that coat?”

It’s the end of August. Everyone’s gone out to enjoy the last wave of heat before school calls back to them, all except Shinjiro and Koromaru. And Mitsuru, apparently. “I’m always cold. I thought we went over this. And are you _that_ bored that you wanna hang out with me?”

“You are the only remaining person in the dormitory, and I have a favour to ask you.” She sits down hesitantly on the armchair by Shinjiro. The silence stretches out before Shinjiro realizes she wants him to reply.

“Well? If you’re gonna waste my time like this, at least spit it out.”

His dismissive nature somehow calms her down and she sits straighter, a small smile on her face. “As it is one of the final weeks of summer, I want to try a slushie. It seems as though it’s popular in this weather, and the multicoloured… concoction that Iori brings home occasionally has caught my interest.”

The silence stretches out even longer now. Finally, Koromaru hops off of Shinjiro’s chest as he sits up and stretches. “That’s it? Mitsuru, you’re something else.”

“Is it… odd?”

He shoves his hands in his pockets, slouching into the collar of his coat involuntarily. “Slushies? Nah. The way you’re asking? Yeah. Why me?”

“I thought that maybe if you wouldn’t shed that coat, you would at least find another way to cool your body down. And it just so happens that I have been meaning to try a slushie for quite some time.”

That’s a downright lie. He knows they’ve both talked about what the drugs have done to his body, how the coat is a necessity and not a fashion statement, and here she is, talking as though the weather was the only thing throwing his temperature regulation into chaos. Fuck, they talked about it five seconds ago. “Should I cover Koromaru’s ears so you can start telling me the truth about why you asked me?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Shall we go?”

She’s got a look in her eyes that means she’s dead serious. He only remembers that look in battle now, so seeing it now is kind of like—like before, when they had time to joke about things. She even looks a little more dressed down than usual, and there’s a pair of sunglasses perched on her head that look ready for action. He’ll press more about it later on. “C’mon, let’s get this over with.”

There’s a convenience store around the corner, and Shinjiro can only guess that’s where Iori gets these things. Mitsuru’s been following behind him, ever the picture of grace, but he really has no fucking idea where he’s going or if he’s even right.

It’s usually been Mitsuru leading the way. She says that Iori’s the moodmaker of the group, but she can shut everything down and make it awkward with a single stare to the right person. There’s a divide between the original members of SEES and the ones they’ve gained in the past year, but everyone still follows Mitsuru and her air of self-assurance, even when Arisato is now completely directing battle and exploration and Fuuka guides them through the labyrinths. Everything still gets deferred to her. She’s technically leading this damn excursion, too. He briefly wonders who’ll finally manage to crack her open. If he’ll be alive to see Mitsuru’s warmth openly instead of through non-conversations and quiet favours.

Shinjiro can at least do this for her. Although he suspects there’s something Mitsuru wants to talk about, because this request is _way_ too normal to not have a reason. _Normal_ is kinda funny with _Mitsuru_ , though. He’s not gonna lie: watching Mitsuru get the most colourful disaster of a slushie and walk out as dainty as she is? Fucking hilarious. He’d take a picture if he had a phone and if he was that kind of guy. He considers telling Aki about this, but he’s essentially signed a non-disclosure agreement with Mitsuru by buying a slushie of his own.

He hasn’t had one of these in years. He didn’t like them all too much to begin with, but of course his only two friends are two idiots that love this shit. They sit on a bench on the way back to the dorm because Mitsuru’s spending too much time marvelling at the way the colours mix and trying to catch all the different flavours and not enough on watching where she’s walking.

She’s only broken from her concentration when Shinjiro starts coughing again, clutching his head and looking like he’s in legitimate pain. Her head whips around immediately to him, trying to assess his situation, when he sits back up with a groan.

(Mitsuru tries her best, but Shinjiro can seriously fucking tell that she’s more concerned about him now, treating him as if he were frailer than he actually were. He can still take hits better than the lot. It’s annoying. But it’s Mitsuru.)

“God. Fuck brain freeze.” He massages his temples.

“…Brain freeze? A side effect of the pills...?”

She’s almost finished her slushie, going at almost twice the rate as Shinjiro. He balks at it. “When you eat or drink cold things too fast and your head hurts?”

“This is a problem I am unaware of. Perhaps I am too unacquainted with drinks or food this blatantly cold, although ice cream doesn’t seem to have these properties for me.”

Shinjiro thinks it’s some sort of rich kid thing before he remembers it’s probably a persona thing. Null ice, his ass. “Right. Fuckin’ Penthesilea.”

There’s nowhere to go and no sense in sitting around, in Mitsuru’s eyes. Shinjiro desperately wants to call it a day with his stupid slushie and go back to the dorm and hide out, but it’s Mitsuru’s day today, apparently. She walks to the shrine with Shinjiro on her heels, still debating on whether he should turn back now.

Fuck, he’s really out of shape. He might have not been entirely honest about the coat: it’s fucking hot, and the exertion from climbing up the shrine steps is making it all worse. Castor’s like a guide in Tartarus but a weight in the outside world, and when he gets to the top, he rests on the bench and waits for Mitsuru to do whatever it is she wanted to.

Apparently, it’s sitting next to him, like she couldn’t have just done that when they were closer to the dorm and not all the way up the shrine steps. They’re both looking out at Iwatodai beneath them, Port Island a mix of glittering white and silver and blue, all the things that Shinjiro is not.

“While you’re here, Shinjiro, you should consider praying for your academic prowess.” Without turning around, Shinjiro knows that she’s got a satisfied smile on her face just by the tone of her voice. Some things never change; the conversation is light, but the meanings are not.

“I was wondering. Thought I wasn’t smart enough to talk to you, but I guess you had a reason for dragging me out here after all.” _Don’t bother wasting your time on me anymore._

“While an excellent conclusion, it is not the correct one. Maybe I would just wish to spend time with a friend during the summer holidays, as it were.” _Akihiko isn’t the only person you’re important to._

“You? Taking a day off _and_ spending time with me? Don’t make me laugh. You’ve got an entire dorm to boss around, now. There’s gotta be some reason you went outta your way for this.” _You’ve got more people to take care of than a dying man._

“It’s a shame if you choose not to believe me.” _There’s a place for you here. Don’t forget._

The conversation ends. Somehow, they always end up knowing exactly what the other says.

Although the sun shows no signs of setting any time soon, the evening’s almost upon them. Summer is weird like that, fucking with his sense of time, and it’s one of those things he’ll never quite get used to. The Dark Hour fucks with him enough. Shinjiro stands up, feeling as though he’s been frozen for a million years, and Mitsuru remains seated. She’s still got a smile on her face, the one where she’s proud of herself _(still)_ and even a little smug. “What’re you smiling about?”

“It seems I had it all backwards all along.” She stands up, straightening her skirt. “I was under the impression that eating with you would facilitate your return to the dorm,” she says, shaking the empty plastic cup in her hand to punctuate, “but it was clearly not the case.”

Fuck. “That doesn’t count.” But it’s true. There’s no difference in the way she’s asked him before, except the fact that he’d been in the dorm this time. Maybe he’s getting soft. “You said it was for your stupid slushie thing. This doesn’t count.”

“So we are both in agreement that this did not happen.” She throws the plastic cup into a garbage can and, well. That’s that.

 

* * *

 

But that isn’t that, apparently. Of course it wasn’t a one off thing. Why would he ever think that?

“Shinjiro.”

“What now?”

“Last night, Iori was demonstrating something. I believe he called it a ‘dab’—”

“Leave me out of this one.”

 

* * *

 

When school rolls back in, the dorm empties. He wanders the hallways with a restless energy—goddamn, even the _robot_ goes to school—before settling on his bed and drawing the blinds, trying to block it out until everyone inevitably returns home and it gets too hard to pretend. He doesn’t want to go back to school, anyway, not in the state he’s in. It’s too annoying to hear people whispering about him as he walks down hallways and all the teachers are absolute morons, so the dorm is his best option for now.

(It might be good that he has so much free time now. He has the time to buy the groceries he needs to make lunch for the entire dorm, not that he wants to. It’s just—he’s seen the state of their meals, and he has to kill time _somehow_. He doesn’t even know if Aigis can eat or likes to, but he’s already made her a lunch, and it’s gone the next day. He just hopes she doesn’t waste it or anything.)

Old habits die hard, and when Mitsuru comes home some Thursdays she sees Shinjiro sitting at the kitchen table. Normally, Mitsuru doesn’t come home alone; someone, usually Akihiko, is walking alongside her. However, Arisato’s dragged his juniors out for the afternoon and Akihiko told her to head home alone today, and often she’d use this time to make her way down to Port Island Station.

“Welcome back.” Shinjiro’s voice grumbles, the way it had been the past two years and the way it hadn’t the past two months. He doesn’t look up from the cooking magazine in his hands, foot tapping involuntarily. “Or should I have met you outside of Rafflesia, like usual?”

“No, this is alright.” She looks at the dog resting by his feet and wonders if Koromaru will ever pass their conversations onto Aigis for her to translate to the others. “What happened to not talking about these things?”

“Apparently you stopped caring, so I decided the same.” The original arrangement remains, although implicit, remains: _don’t tell Akihiko._ “Catch.” He tosses an aluminum can at Mitsuru, who reaches for it with lightning fast reflexes. “Ever had one of these, princess?”

“Inexperienced as I am of common cuisines, I am aware of what a Mad Bull is, Shinjiro.” It’s clearly just from one of the vending machines in the dorm. She sees the underclassmen drinking them all the time trying to study, and she’s always quick to remind them of better studying strategies. Mitsuru’s never felt the need to try one, though.

“Clearly not, or you’d have no business walking around looking that tired.” He shrugs. He’s still looking at the magazine, but she can feel his eyes peek over the top of the pages, gauging her reaction.

She’s not as competitive as Shinjiro and Akihiko, but she’s definitely got a streak; this is a challenge and while she prides herself on not being childish, she knows Shinjiro is trying not to smirk from behind the magazine. She opens the can, inspects the contents, and takes a sip. Her face contorts into barely concealed disgust, and Shinjiro barks out a laugh that surprises Koromaru into attention. Short, raspy, the way she hadn’t heard in the past two years.

 

* * *

 

It’s late at night and she’s not expecting the soft knock on her door. Not unheard of, but still uncommon.

This, on the other hand. On the other side is Shinjiro, retreating into himself more than usual, trying to hide back into his coat. She feels a flash of concern, although his body language signals that it’s nothing extreme. “Come in.”

Shinjiro barely does, which Mitsuru is still grateful for. His actions betray his looks; he’s always been more tactile, and so his body remembers old habits better than he can. He pushes boundaries but never crosses them, sometimes understanding Mitsuru’s tells better than herself.

She contemplates all of this until Shinjiro speaks.

“Can you—there’s a video, in the control room. Of me. And Koromaru.”

 _It’s just about the security cameras?_ “Yes?”

“Look, you don’t have to know anything about it. Just get rid of it.”

“What’s your reasoning?”

“You don’t need to know shit.”

“Then, it’s only fair that I get a request of equal urgency.”

“Ever the diplomat. Fine, what do you want?”

“I’d like to try eating at Wild Duck Burger, if that’s alright with you.”

“What? That’s it?” He forgets to control his volume out of disbelief. It _is_ a fair trade. The video can’t be _that_ bad, and really, it’s become less about trying the food and more about making sure Shinjiro is alright. The plan and her interests just happen to overlap. “Fuck, Mitsuru, I’ll buy you burgers for the rest of my fucking life. Just get rid of the video.” He has his hand on the doorknob when he adds, “And don’t watch it.”

“You have my word. As always, the food is on me.”

Shinjiro stares at her for a moment, before he nods. “Fuckin’ right it is.”

 

* * *

 

Mitsuru is tired down to her bones. It’s just past sundown, and when the streetlights flicker on and she can see the dorm, she knows it’s safe to rest again, if only for a moment. She takes off her heels and walks a few steps, uneasy at first, unaccustomed to being on ground level. The asphalt underneath her feet is still warm from the sun, pebbles undoubtedly wearing away at her stockings, but this is her moment.

The dorm is, thankfully, empty. Shinjiro and Akihiko are around the kitchen table, chatting amicably, when they notice her come in.

She doesn’t bother to hide how tired she is around the two of them anymore. At this point, these are the two that have known her the longest, who understand that the second Tuesday every month is spent with her fiance, that her tiredness is more than just being on her feet all day. It’s like she’s just been to Tartarus after a particularly rigorous night, thoroughly exhausted in body and mind.

“Hey.” Akihiko’s the first to greet her, and they wait for her to lead the way.

“Are you two hungry?” Going out again is the last thing on her mind, and she’s just eaten. But it feels empty, a sparse meal eaten in order over the course of three hours, and she’s still got energy left over from the feel of hot concrete under her feet. Maybe she’s feeling a little giddy. Maybe she wants to break out of her comfort zone again.

Her stockings are surely coming out with holes next time she does laundry.

“Uh, sure. Yeah. I could go for food. Aki?”

“Uh—hell yeah, where you feelin’, Mitsuru?”

“Hagakure Ramen?”

Now they’re both absolutely bewildered. She feels her face heat up, feels herself getting grounded. Chained back down. Her feet itch in her heels. “Never mind. That was odd of me.”

“Well, we don’t have class tomorrow, so it doesn’t matter if we’re a bit late. And you,” Akihiko says, punctuating with a smack on Shinjiro’s head, “never have class anyway.”

He hits back without a second thought before standing up himself, working out the cricks in his neck. “S’not a bad night for a walk. You should probably change, though.”

“Oh. Yes. What would be appropriate?”

Shinjiro and Akihiko look at each other. “Not… that,” Shinjiro says, cautiously. Although it’s obvious that she’s tired, she knows that she’s still dressed up. With her current company, she’ll probably be attracting more attention than she wants right now. She’s aware of that much.

When she comes back downstairs, she spots Akihiko slipping his wallet into his back pocket, Shinjiro looking cornered. She can guess. She’s had a similar conversation with Shinjiro, albeit with much less words. “It’s my treat tonight.”

“What? No way, Mitsuru,” Akihiko shouts, Shinijro looking as if he were in agreement for once.

“Then perhaps I should go by myself. I have learnt etiquette from my previous outings—”

It’s frantic, the way Shinjiro cuts her off. “Aki, let the woman pay. Just don’t let her go alone.”

Akihiko looks like he has some fight left in him, but he abandons it. She wonders if he knows that Shinjiro just doesn’t want her to embarrass herself or if he thinks Shinjiro is that concerned about her mental state that she needs social support.

“Whatever. Let’s head out.”

The sun is fully down now. Mitsuru is roped into their conversation occasionally, but they seem to get the hint that she wants company and not conversation, at least for the time being. Her thoughts wander from worry to worry, but the other two’s chattering keeps her from diving too deep.

They grab a small table in the back, and because it’s late they have a little more room to themselves than usual. The place is like Mitsuru last remembers, even though it was so long ago; the heat surrounds them like a blanket, aromas rich in the air. She feels her knees knock against Akihiko’s and Shinjiro’s every time any of them move. Even as someone that likes her private and personal space, she feels at ease here, moreso than the quiet dining hall with her fiancé sitting so far away from her that she could almost afford to not pay attention. 

The other two notice her spacing out, and they try to strike up conversation again. “So, uh. Fiancé thing not go well?” Akihiko’s never been tactful, and Shinjiro covers half of his face with his hand. _He was going to ask too, wasn’t he?_

She can’t help but remember her first dinner, the one from earlier that evening, but the concern emanating from the two of them is enough to quell the anxiety for now. “As well as it ever goes.”

“What, we your rebound now?” Shinjiro asks, leaning back in his chair trying to look casual.

“Hardly. Perhaps I would simply prefer the taste of ramen tonight. And you two are not quite my type.” Maybe she’s not being entirely truthful; after all, if anyone were to be her lifelong friends, she wouldn’t hesitate to bet on these two first.

 

* * *

 

Mitsuru remembers.

She remembers the original SEES members, the three of them, confused and unrefined and stumbling through the lower levels of Tartarus. They were optimistic, at first, in the way optimism has to be redefined to fit them: they were not alone, and they had a vague reason to keep fighting. They were mind, body, and soul; Mitsuru, Shinjiro, and Akihiko.

But they were already on the fringes of normalcy, and it becomes irreversible on one October night. (Can a human body really contain that much blood? Are they that fragile, the sound of bones shattering and grinding so prolonged that they can no longer tell whether this human being is breaking or if it is just an echo?)

She remembers when the seasons turned and Shinjiro was no longer there, when she and Akihiko left a hopeful sliver of space between them where a lanky, tired-looking teenager would look, gruff voice and a frame he had yet to fully grow into. She remembers the days pass by, when she learnt to hold her head higher again, when Akihiko began to walk as if every step would be his last.

She remembers the rumours. _Aragaki must’ve died or something._

_If you go into the back alley of the station at midnight, you’ll actually see Aragaki. He looks like a damn demon, or something, and if you give him enough money he’ll kill whoever you want._

_He dropped out of school? He didn’t seem too bright anyway, it was inevitable._

When they reach Akihiko’s ears, he reacts. Fists would fly, rarely, then sometimes, then always in Akihiko’s favour. He learns to hit hard enough that no one hits back. She remembers doing nothing. She remembers wanting to atone for not being strong enough, not willing enough to break her image. Being too weak, wishing to run away instead of standing her ground and taking control.

She’s often questioned Akihiko’s drive to protect those close to him so strongly, but she knows she’s only biting down her shame, threatening to rise up her throat like bile.

When Shinjiro comes back, every request she has made reads like a prayer.

 

* * *

 

And sometimes prayers are answered in mysterious ways, she considers, her weary spirit resting at the sight of Shinjiro and Akihiko making light conversation.

 

* * *

 

Shinjiro decides both of them are battle-crazed idiots.

Their default conversation topic to avoid all others is battle. Strategies this, weapons that, persona something or another. At least he’s got something else to do so he doesn’t have to participate this time around—Hagakure Ramen is easy. He can just eat. Focus on the warmth of the bowl seeping into his fingers, the texture of the noodles, the taste of the broth.

Most of his battle strategies are _try not to die_ and _hit hard_ , anyway. And he hates to say it, but when it comes to shadow fighting, he doesn’t mind taking a backseat and listening to orders. Lets him focus more, because god (Castor) knows he needs it. Fighting in SEES lately has been catharsis long since coming; the fact that the Arisato kid is so good at giving orders is just better for him.

It’s times like this in Hagakure Ramen where he can really see how Akihiko’s changed. He’s trained, of course. He’s gotten stronger in body and mind, judging by the way he and Mitsuru are talking tactics now. There’s nothing like the way he and Akihiko goad each other into pointless battles, trying to outdo each other, losing composure. Akihiko might get excited, sure, but he stays focused in these battle conversations.

And Mitsuru can keep up. She’s as enthusiastic about this as Akihiko is, which is a wonder in itself.

He thinks that maybe he should excuse himself, that clearly everyone’s doing fine without him around as it is. If he’s intruding on SEES somehow by causing unnecessary tensions, or if he ever had a place there. He’s sure he is. It doesn’t make anyone’s life easier, him still being alive.

It’s only been two years, but it’s felt like an eternity. They’re completely different people now; Shinjiro purposefully isolating himself, Akihiko and Mitsuru becoming each other’s support. They’ve grown in different ways, and their edges aren’t as seamless as they used to be. They have scars that cross over each other’s bodies and edges where they can’t quite meet.

Maybe it really just is his time to leave. Normally, people's’ lives flash before their eyes when they’re dying, but what Shinjiro’s seeing are the _what if_ s. And _fuck_ , it really hurts sometimes. But he’s got a pretty grave all picked out for him in the musty alleyway these two had tried to drag him out of, and he already knows who’s on the other end of the scythe pointed at him, so he’s gotta stay alive, at least.

In between their conversation, Mitsuru sends glances at him, always looking like she wants to include him in the conversation instead of isolating him even more. But at least she knows which tasks are impossible and which aren’t.

Still, it’s good to see that both are in good health, for real this time. Arisato’s not a bad cook, and Yamagishi is... well-meaning. She’s got the energy to try and pack lunches for everyone once he’s gone, at least. He doesn’t have many loose ends to tie up before he leaves, but at least this one’s been wrapped in a neat bow, all by itself.

“What do you think, Shinji?” Akihiko knocks their shoulders together, and he lifts his head.

 

* * *

 

He and Mitsuru finally drop by Wild Duck on another Thursday. “Really, isn’t this a place you should be in with Aki instead?”

“Are you implying anything, Shinjiro? In any case yes, I have passed by here with him once before. Eating with one’s hands seems to be the norm.” She seems rather proud of herself, even as she carefully places napkins on her tray, presumably to soak up any dripping grease.

“I noticed. You didn’t ask for utensils. Still doesn’t answer the question.”

“Akihiko trains after school every day except Mondays and Fridays,” she says, as if she were reciting a well-known fact. It might as well be; Akihiko’s become a fitness nut while Shinjiro’s been gone, he’s become too predictable. “However, that fact does not deter me from wishing to spend more time with you.”

“You and Aki havin’ a lover’s spat or something?”

Mitsuru frowns. “A lover’s spat? We’re nothing of the sort. I’m sure you of all people understand this.” It’s a joke—he does, in fact, know that better than everyone, so he thinks it’s odd that Mitsuru chooses to react to this one.

She still doesn’t look happy, and he raises an eyebrow. Nothing more. Silence is usually a great way of getting people to talk. Classic business tactic, so Shinjiro doesn’t think it’ll be all too effective.

Except Mitsuru falls for it, which is how he knows her composure isn’t completely perfect. “I suppose he’s… been different these past few months as well. There’s a renowned vigour in his actions. Now that there’s a definite end to the Dark Hour, he seems more lively than usual. Sure of himself.

“All of SEES seems to be this way as well. You too, Shinjiro. You’ve changed.”

At this, Shinjiro laughs. It’s not entirely humourless, surprising even himself. “Yeah, for the worse. If you’re trying to feel bad about yourself by complimenting me, you got a lot of work ahead of you.

“And if you ask me, Aki hasn’t changed a bit. He’s gotten more stubborn, if anything. Set in his ways. Something’s gotta rock him to make him change, and it’s gotta be hard. He’ll lose something again if he just keeps barrelling forward like an idiot.” He takes fries off Mitsuru’s tray. She’s not really eating anyway, and it might be a little _too_ suspect if he tries to bag goddamn _Wild Duck Burger_ for later meals.

Neither of them speak for a while.

“It’s not always great to be forced into change,” Shinjiro finally says. He’s not a fan of being vulnerable, but if there’s anyone that’ll at least try to listen, it’s Mitsuru. Or Koromaru. He doesn’t need to say anything more than that for Mitsuru to understand, but he goes on anyway. “So what. He’s stubborn and stupid and goes through the world like he’s got blinders on. I commend your effort of trying to keep him in line these past two years.”

“It’s almost like he doesn’t need to be looked after. He guides himself on his own path these days. In reality, I can hardly keep up.”

“And what, _you_ haven’t changed? Maybe you haven’t. Maybe you have. Not like I can tell.” He scratches his nose. “But some things never change. You can loosen up, y’know. I’m the irresponsible senior around here. You don’t have to bend over backwards to be a role model anymore.”

She bites the inside of her cheek. He sighs and stands up. His tall frame draws the attention of some others nearby, and Mitsuru looks uncomfortable, and he can already feel the misinterpretations of the situation from everyone else. It’s annoying, but for Mitsuru’s sake, he urges her along. “C’mon. We should go.”

She takes a moment to regain her composure, and in a split second she’s as unreadable as she was when they first walked out of the dorm.

The walk home is silent, the space between them contemplative. He can’t read her like this, and he’s really more focused on why he said what he did and how it might come back to bite him in the ass later, anyway. Mitsuru at least doesn’t seem unhappy, which is probably a good sign—but it’s been so long he doesn’t know if her tells are the same anymore.

They reach the dorm before they know it. Stopping in front of the door, Mitsuru says his name as if she’s about to do something annoying, like thank him for some stupid reason. He puts a hand up to stop her. “Nuh-uh. We don’t acknowledge this. Your rules.”

“I suppose you’re right.” For anybody else, it might have been insulting. For the two of them, the exchange that took place serves the same purpose as the one that doesn’t.

_Thank you, Shinjiro._

_Don’t worry about it._

 

* * *

 

It’s a few days before the next full moon, and Mitsuru puts her book down just to observe.

Arisato is out walking Koromaru, but everyone present looks lively. Yamagishi and Takeba are directing Iori’s actions as he continues to fail a level in a video game over and over, Amada even dropping his normal facade of maturity to make his own suggestions.

She’s hesitant to ask them if they’ve been studying for once; it’s not a rare sight, but something about the atmosphere seems like it could shatter with one wrong move—and it’s not as if she doesn’t like seeing her fellow SEES members lighten up.

Somehow, Akihiko and Shinjiro are in the back, arm wrestling at the kitchen table with familiar competitive grins on their faces. Shinjiro used to be the stronger than Akihiko, even without their personas, but now it seems like a closer match than ever. Akihiko’s been training for years now, and Shinjiro’s regained a good amount of his strength after frequenting Tartarus. Watching the scene almost makes her forget that Shinjiro looks horribly frail without his coat on, that Akihiko knows how to let himself relax every once in a while.

Trying not to attract attention, she bookmarks her current page and walks towards the two of them. These childish displays of strength are normally irritating, but there is nothing urgent that needs to be done (like keeping each other alive), and they’re not impeding any sort of group goal, so she leaves them be.

“Oh, good, Mitsuru.” Akihiko grins at her. “We’ll have an unbiased witness who can declare that I win.”

“In your fuckin’ dreams, Aki.”

Before she respond, Arisato and Koromaru come back. It’s been raining outside, and Koromaru shakes himself off, water flying everywhere. He bounds straight to Shinjiro, who only has a moment to react before he’s attacked by a wet dog.

“Oh god, Koromaru, at least dry off first,” he complains, simultaneously running a hand through Koromaru’s fur while off wiping his own face.

Mitsuru catches the glint of silver around Koromaru’s neck first.

Akihiko pipes in with a “Hey, does this mean I win?” before he does, too.

Arisato walks up to the three of them, looking relatively calm for someone that’s just had to be dragged around by an energetic dog in the pouring rain. He makes small bows to the other two before addressing Shinjiro. “Aragaki-senpai, Koromaru found something of yours in the rain today. I clipped it to his collar.” He nods before heading off upstairs to his own room.

Koromaru barks happily, and Shinjiro leans down to unclip the pocket watch from his collar.

It still doesn’t gleam, and it still doesn’t work. There’s still the crack in the glass watch face running almost perfectly from the seven to the middle before breaking off into three other jagged cracks. It doesn’t open as smoothly as it used to, and the clasp is broken, and so the watch face hangs perpetually open.

But it’s there. With his job done, Koromaru hops off Shinjiro’s lap and runs off to a worried Yamagishi, who’s procured two towels out of somewhere. “Aragaki-senpai, would you like a towel as well?”

“Save it for Koromaru,” he says, voice low and grumbly, nothing like it was a few minutes ago with Akihiko. He’s still staring at the watch, not bothering to wipe it off.

“Didn’t know you still had this old thing,” Akihiko says. “Not like you to keep useless things.”

“Not like I ever rewound it after the dark hour,” Shinjiro replies. He slips it into an inside coat of his pocket and secures the chain, sitting right above his heart. “Just kinda forgot it was there, y’know? And besides, this thing’s all busted. Can’t sell it for shit.”

All three of them know he would never sell that watch, just like Akihiko would never sell the scuffed silver ring sitting in his drawer upstairs. It was Mitsuru’s first attempt at other items that would help them in battle. All she had was Dia at the time to infuse into the small items, to increase their ability to survive the best she could.

Like the items Arisato had for them now, they were useless outside the Dark Hour. Some made decent fashion accessories, but were otherwise restricted to within Tartarus. This should’ve been no exception.

But they don’t talk about these things. Shinjiro stands up somewhat abruptly, mumbling something like going to his room to get dry, and she and Akihiko can do nothing but watch him walk away.

 

* * *

 

Today’s food exploration is takoyaki at the strip mall. They’re seated on a bench in front of the stand, Mitsuru still in her school uniform and Shinjiro in his usual outfit; now that it’s colder, his thick coat draws less attention. Silence is still their norm, but it doesn’t kill him to have a relatively normal conversation about heavier things, now. If he wanted to be dramatic, he could say that since he’s dying, everything could technically be killing him. Sitting on his ass all day and trying greasy food with Mitsuru could be the cause of his death as much as the pills at this point.

Or maybe it’ll be these conversations that’ll kill him, where the words are vapid but the meanings are plentiful.

Or maybe Mitsuru will decide to stop beating around the bush and do away with their unspoken contract of their friendship. “You’re dying.” It’s a statement. There’s no hesitation; Shinjiro reacts from the bluntness rather than the statement (because, well, she’s right). “When were you planning on telling Akihiko?”

“Never, preferably. Just planning on dying in some back alley while you’re all off on a mission.” He doesn’t add _I’m waiting for Amada to make his move_ , because Mitsuru _knows,_ doesn’t she? Plan for the worst, hope for the best; that’s Mitsuru and Akihiko for you.

“It’s that dire?”

“Of course it is.” He refrains following up with _you should know, your company practically used me as an experiment,_ because he knows they essentially did the same thing to her. Whether she likes it or not, he knows the circumstances of Penthesilea’s Awakening. “Symptoms started escalating out of nowhere, too. Didn’t make sense until I found out what you lot were up to on the full moons, and even then I don’t get a damn thing. Never seen a deader man than myself.”

“Those… pills.”

“Best chance at keeping me alive, but seems as though my dealers know I’ve been getting buddy-buddy with the people trying to kill them.”

“Technically, you are also familiar with someone indirectly involved in making them.”

He shakes his head, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. “Right as always.”

“Shinjiro.”

He says nothing. He thinks he knows what’s coming, anyway. And it’s definitely getting annoying how Mitsuru’s starting to try and do the whole _no regrets before death_ think, even though he knows he’s a dead man.

“If there’s anything—”

“You’ve done enough.” He’s finished his takoyaki, and almost wants to get more just to keep his hands busy. He’s shoved them in his pocket and he’s already tapping his fingers impatiently, clenching and unclenching his fists. “Hurry and eat that before it gets cold.”

 

* * *

 

Tonight, Shinjiro is absent. Mitsuru hopes he’s in his room or at least somewhere safe. Akihiko doesn’t know where he goes during the nights either, and it’s an echo of a conversation they had, long ago. She smiles, sitting in the common room reading, Akihiko cleaning his gloves, while the underclassmen are talking lightly amongst themselves.

Arisato’s on his way out the door before Iori shouts. “By the way, Arisato.” His voice carries throughout any room he’s in, and so almost any conversation with him is public by his nature. “Your cooking’s been getting really good lately. But you’re out all the time, I just don’t know how you have time to make us all lunch!”

Without missing a beat and with only a small turn of his head, the blue-haired boy speaks with no hesitation. “Aragaki-senpai makes those.”

From where she’s seated, she can watch everyone in the room turn towards the space that would normally be occupied by Shinjiro. She then glances towards Akihiko, who’s also staring at the seat with no hint of surprise on his face.

Of course neither of them are particularly surprised. Shinjiro did this too, once, years ago, when he still had uniforms hanging up in his closet and small smiles on his face. Mitsuru finds out by accident, of course, because Shinjiro would never be one to admit these sorts of things.

“ _Aragaki-senpai?_ That grumpy old man?” Iori is completely in shock, much as everyone else. “Those lunches that looked and tasted like they were made with a mother’s love?”

“Correct. As the appearance of these lunch boxes were sudden and unexpected, I had taken the entire prepared set for myself the very first day.” Aigis nods to herself before continuing. “I ingested all of them in order to determine its content, and I discovered no anomalies or harmful substances.

“Additionally, I had determined Aragaki to be the creator of these lunchboxes by analysing the fingerprints. They have been designated Safe.”

“Probably the only safe food products in here,” Akihiko says absentmindedly.

“Wait, what? You knew, Akihiko-senpai?” Yamagishi tilts her head from where she’s sitting on the other couch. “And Aigis-san, you didn’t say anything?”

“I had discovered no threats or malicious intent. I did not find it necessary to explain the source. Additionally, there were no inquiries made in my presence regarding the lunches.”

It seems odd for Aigis to not overshare on the information she collects, Mitsuru catches herself thinking. She wonders if Koromaru reports observations of the members over to Aigis; he’s certainly inconspicuous enough to be an information gatherer.

As for the other question, Akihiko simply shrugs. “He used to do it back before he left SEES. Practically threw a fit when Mitsuru found out he was making them the first time.”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say he ‘threw a fit’,” Mitsuru sighs. “After I discovered he made lunches, I chose not to discuss the matter further. As for all of you, I suggest that if you wish to continue receiving lunches that you do not mention this conversation to Shinjiro.”

Iori leans back, hands behind his head. “Man, I ain’t complaining. Ain’t had lunches that good in a while, and if that’s all it takes, I’m in!” Yamagishi, on the other hand, has a more contemplative look on her face, tapping a pencil on her notebook now opened to what Mitsuru understands to be recipes. Takeba gives her an unreadable look before turning back to the other two.

She raises an eyebrow and returns to her reading.

 

* * *

 

Another night, Shinjiro is back. She and Akihiko don’t ask, and he doesn’t tell. But he does come back, seemingly unharmed, and so they move on together.

Around the kitchen table, it’s almost like it’s normal again. Back when they were younger and more reckless and unaware of what the future would bring, before it all went bottoms up, when Akihiko and Shinjiro called the three of them friends without the implication of _temporary comrades_.

Of course, it’s not. So as long as her eyes are open, she’s reminded of the fact that many things are irreversible. She can’t heal the vicious scars on Akihiko’s hands, and she can’t undo the way Shinjiro’s ribs jut out of his body, coat hiding most of the bulk.

But she can do this. The juniors are out for the night again, Ken is walking Koromaru, and they’re holding down the fort. There’s surprisingly little to do, Akihiko and Mitsuru abandoning studying to join Shinjiro in the common room.

They’re playing cards. Mitsuru doesn’t know how, Akihiko keeps pushing the rules, and Shinjiro is the only one that knows card games that aren’t poker. It’s just to keep their hands busy, because they’re always on edge, these days.

"Mitsuru, you should teach us more French." It comes after Mitsuru crows in success in the language.

"Us? You're on your own here." Shinjiro dismisses the thought quickly, throwing down cards.

" _Mais_ _oui,_ Shinji. If we end up in a country that speaks French, we’ll have an advantage."

"Not gonna live long enough to use it, anyway." Shinjiro’s gotten comfortable with her over these past few months, their silent sparring; his acceptance and her ways of resistance. But maybe all of them have let their guards down, because she comes to expect such phrases from him, and Akihiko—

"Shinji, don't say things like that."

"I'll say whatever I damn please if it's the truth."

Mitsuru's been around these kinds of situations before with these two, but never in person. Sometimes she's leading them in Tartarus and all she can do is keep alert for any other threats. Sometimes she sees the aftermath and she heals them, biting back reprimands. Sometimes she sees long after both think the other have forgotten, in unused kitchens and benches by the port.

It doesn't occur to her that they have the tact to keep it away from her until it comes to this point, where tensions have risen so high that everything sets them off, that Mitsuru can do nothing but watch.

She doesn't know what to do. There is no battle they are distracted from, no goal they're pressured to complete. For all intents and purposes, a conversation like this needs to happen. But she’s never been in the same room as them like they are now.

She wonders if Akihiko knows that he and Shinjiro are arguing with the same person.

Mitsuru doesn't realize she's standing until she makes level eye contact with the two of them, both leaning at each other about to throw punches. She’s made her presence known, but she doesn’t know what to do. Telling them to calm down isn’t an option; these aren't the arguments she's witnessed before, the insignificant if not heated ones. This one is necessary. Maybe Arisato would have known what to say, as the group leader.

She hesitates too long to say something, anything, because Shinjiro straightens up suddenly and heads to the door, looking as if he were to destroy everything in his path.

“Shinji, wait—goddamnit—” Akihiko runs after him, and Mitsuru watches them leave.

Strike two. She sits back down in her seat, wondering if her inaction will cost them their friendship, their lives next time.

 

* * *

 

(She doesn’t know when _Aragaki_ became _Shinjiro_ , much as she doesn’t know when _Sanada_ became _Akihiko_. One of them had been more expected than the other; she had a feeling that she would get along with Akihiko to some capacity, but to bring Shinjiro into her close orbit willingly was something she hadn’t anticipated.

One day, _Aragaki-san_ turns into _Aragaki_ and straight into _Shinjiro_ _._ Relatively speaking, it hadn’t been that long; a few months of fighting, living, eating, breathing, side by side, and Mitsuru didn’t think she’d be able to open up as much as she had. His door is still open as she’s on the way to ask Akihiko about clarification about their exams, and it happens easily as she reprimands him.

“Really, Shinjiro, you should be studying for exams. They start tomorrow.”

It’s just a habit from Akihiko calling him Shinji all the time, she figures, and that’s why she picks it up. Shinjiro only looks surprised for a brief second before he sighs. “If those morons can teach, then I can pass without studying. Easy peasy.”

“Be more polite to teachers,” she says, but it’s not as stern as she’d hope it would be. He has that sort of effect on her, where both know the other much more than they outwardly show. It brings them together in a way that talking straightforwardly cannot, and save for a few things, she’s not sure if the two of them are able to do so, anyway. “I can’t do you any favours when you fail out of school.”

“Ouch, no faith. C’mon, Mitsuru, I’m a genius.” He easily returns the favour by saying her own name, and she tries not to react outwardly. She doesn’t have to try much, because it feels like the logical conclusion after so long.

Shinjiro was crass and grumpy and every bit as competitive as Akihiko was, and his inclusion into SEES hadn’t been expected in the slightest. He and Mitsuru were worlds apart, and yet, he had quickly become someone that she needed; if she had only found Akihiko without the other, she’s positive that SEES would have been off to a much rockier start.

He did an excellent job of grounding the two, as it was. He was always the more passive of the three, only running into danger when Akihiko goaded him into it, somehow being the one to group them all up at the end of the day. His problem, she knows, was _(is)_ that he cares too much. Shinjiro grounds the two of them the best because he’s the most human of them all, even if he’s in a position where society deems him non-existent.

She doesn’t know how to talk to him at first. She can’t talk to him like Akihiko, because she is not Akihiko and neither is he. But she soon learns that the only way to talk to him is not to talk to him at all, in the way he does to her. She does nothing for him the same way he does nothing for her.

He doesn’t kill that spider for her because she’s scared; he does it because he keeps hearing the dull _thunk_ of objects against the wall as Mitsuru tries to kill it herself, and it’s downright annoying. She doesn’t create the pool of shared finances so Shinjiro doesn’t feel bad requesting money to make meals, she does it because it brings them closer together, creating a sense of responsibility for each other. He doesn’t cook for her, he just always has leftovers, and it would be a waste to leave it.

Neither of them say _thank you_ , but both of them say _no worries_. A bit of a kink in the system, but nothing life-threatening. Pretty soon, it’s just the way things are, and Mitsuru’s name in Shinjiro’s mouth feels like a _welcome home._ _)_

 

* * *

 

The two of them come back in the late hours of the night, bloody, worse for wear. She knows because she waits by the couch for them to come back, because she knows they will. There’s a new hole in Shinjiro’s beanie and Akihiko’s gloves are frayed at the knuckles.

They pass her without saying a word, up to their rooms.

She knows they’ll come back, Shinjiro with his medical supplies in hand (and Mitsuru with her sewing kit already sitting on the coffee table), and they’ll wordlessly patch each other up again. It’s a well-practiced, silent act, each thinking about the other, each thinking about the future. They’re always more fragile than they think they are, and Mitsuru thinks that one day they’ll be all gold, their original pieces unrecognizable.

In the morning, things will be the same again. Shinjiro will be dismissive, Akihiko will worry under hushed whispers, and Mitsuru will not worry at all.

 

* * *

 

In their outings, Mitsuru becomes a little more fearless. It’s like she knows down to the date exactly when he’s going to die, and is trying to get as much information out of him as possible. Like she’s got regrets or something. “Have you ever wanted to run away?”

He’s never particularly taken Mitsuru to be a nostalgic type, and yet they’re here sitting on the benches by the Port Island Station, like things have never changed. Of course, they have, but it’s so obvious it’s not even worth stating to his internal monologue. “Shitty person to ask. I’ve been doing that for the past few years.” Their conversations have evolved, and Shinjiro bites back the urge to say _look, Mitsuru, you_ have _changed:_ now, they say exactly what they mean to, but as if it were a joke. Neither of them know if it’s an improvement or not.

“But you came back.”

“I don’t have much of a choice. Amada’s with SEES now. I’m just moving closer to make sure he’ll hit his target, one way or another.” He’s afraid of dying, not because he particularly wants to live, but because it’ll destroy the kid. “We’re all trapped in our lives one way or another, aren’t we? If you can escape, go for it.”

“I have responsibilities that I cannot shirk. And besides, it’s just an occasional thought. Nothing serious.”

“So you don’t mind if I take your motorcycle off your hands permanently?”

“Don’t you dare touch it.” She smiles a small smile.

(He kinda misses that thing, actually. Preferably not with Mitsuru driving it, because in the Dark Hour when there are no rules she drives like a maniac. It was always kind of stupid how he and Aki’d have to walk while Mitsuru would just speed off on her bike, but he knows better than to get on that damn thing with her. Once was enough. )

“I don’t have anywhere to go, anyway. Born in Iwatodai, wasted in Iwatodai, and I’m sure as hell gonna die here. But you? You’ve got the whole world in front of you. You and all the other munchkins in SEES. Maybe I just don’t understand your inheritance bullshit.”

“Maybe not. But either way, I’d still like to thank you for your company and bearing with my odd ramblings now and then.”

“Damn, these conversations have been getting heavy. What happened to not acknowledging any of this shit?” He’s been avoiding eye contact with her most of the time whenever these excursions happen now, and even now he’s resisting the urge to pull his hat over his face.

“I apologize. However, there is always the option of refusing me.” Smartly deflected. She’s getting real good at not having to say these things out loud when not in her favour.

“Then I’d stop getting free food.” It’s not entirely a lie, but it’s not entirely the truth. He doesn’t have the option of fistfighting her, so it’s verbally that they try to pick apart each other’s masks. It’s not bad.

They were friends before everything went to shit, anyway. Kind of. She and Akihiko always got along better, he thinks. But him and Mitsuru, they had their odd moments of similarity. It’s in their quietness that they understand each other best, and it might not be so bad.

They may not be the well-oiled telepathic battle machine that he and Akihiko are, but they can keep other shadows off each other’s backs.

Even if it’s sometimes doing little things like eating crab bread at Port Island Station, the very same from the school’s convenience store. Arisato’s fed it to the team members in the most difficult of times, and he’s tried it even before the leader used it to restore health, back when he used to go to school. She pulls it out of her school bag and he recognizes the shape of the bread almost immediately. “Crab bread? Mitsuru, I’m not a freshman.”

“I am aware.” She unwraps it and immediately rips a claw off, and Shinjiro feels a pang in his chest from the action, sympathizing for a second for the poor crab. “However, it seems as though you need to regenerate some energy after our conversations.”

She chuckles like she’s funny. Ha ha. He indulges anyway, unwrapping the plastic and holding the bread in his hands. It seemed bigger back then when he tried it for the first time; his hands were less scarred, less bony, with more life in them. He thinks he could rip the crab apart, which is stupid because _obviously I can, it’s bread_. The last time he had one of these before Arisato’s occasional feedings was his first year, when Akihiko bought all of the crab bread available and dared him to eat all of it in five minutes or less. (He won, goddamnit.)

Mitsuru wasn’t particularly happy about it in Tartarus later than night. He’d had more energy than usual, but fuck was he slow that night. Anyway—Shinjiro’s not really the type to try and weasel some symbolic thing about their friendship out of Mitsuru giving him crab bread. He just remembers things, sometimes. He doesn’t have much to do but think, these days.

He rips the claws off first.

 

* * *

 

She knows something is wrong, because it is the fourth of October, and Shinjiro is missing, and Amada is missing. She and Akihiko can guess why they are gone, but two Arcana shadows have appeared this time instead of one, and neither of them are in a position to leave their teammates behind.

It all feels disgustingly familiar, the feeling in her chest. Akihiko throws his punches harder than he ever has before, while Mitsuru defends and heals the team. All they can do is hope that whatever the other two are doing, it’s nothing destructive to each other—but Penthesilea hasn’t gone completely quiet on information collecting, and if she’s been sensing Amada properly, then—

Arcana Strength goes down and almost wordlessly, she sprints to her motorcycle, Akihiko not far behind. Fuuka is ringing in their ears, voice panicky, and all Mitsuru says is _there’s no time. Just track our location._

 

* * *

 

The Dark Hour doesn’t exist to everyone. It is a time that doesn’t exist.

 _If this time doesn’t exist_ , Mitsuru thinks, as Akihiko races into the alley, _how are we too late?_

(Chained securely to his inner pocket, the watch slips out of his coat as Akihiko carries him to a hospital, unmarked by gunpowder and blood.

There is not enough time in the world that could have saved him.)

 

* * *

 

Mitsuru sits on a bench atop the Naganaki Shrine, hands clasping and unclasping tightly. Autumn brings shorter days, and the asphalt no longer burns underneath her feet. It’s her third strike, and now Shinjiro is dead; her inaction cost them all, she thinks, over and over and over. She knows that the seasons are turning once again, and she and Akihiko will have to close the gap between them, the space that would have once been just large enough for Shinjiro. (The first time they lost him, she had to learn how to raise her head again, to look forward, to keep going. This time she thinks she'll have to raise her head even higher to the heavens and ask _why.)_

The sun sinks into the water, and blood red washes over the chrome glitter of Port Island.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> [12/08/17] I just want to say thank you so much to oriharasiblings/Isa on tumblr, who drew me a [lovely fanart](http://oriharasiblings.tumblr.com/post/164003659143) for one of the scenes in the fic!!! Thank you so much <3
> 
> Sorry if the timeline is a little messed up..? Date compliance was not high in my priority list  
> It was originally just going to be all the food scenes and it was going to be happier than this, but it's so hard for me to resist the call of the P3 Angst™. Hello I love the senpai trio so much  
> Thanks to Mamkut and Noelle for encouragement to post in this mostly dead fandom! Love yalls


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